Nicky Cooper - Wellness & Wellbeing Practitioner RN MSc

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Nicky Cooper - Wellness & Wellbeing Practitioner RN MSc

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DipCAH, Cert.E.Hyp.P.N.L.P, AnxSpec
Nurse~Guide~Storyteller
Soul Helper ✨️
Cradle to Grave
Clinical Hypnotherapist
Havening Techniques
Reiki Master
Circle of Security (COSP/COSC)
Coaching & Facilitating
Parenting & Attachment
End-of-life Care

19/06/2026

I was reminded of something this week, about the will to live. It was just a random conversation with a complete stranger on one of my dog walks.

I've witnessed the will to live as much as the will to not live in my line of work, both are equally as powerful.

It speaks to the capacity of the human spirit, the strength and resilience and also the permission to choose your path in life, in whatever direction that takes you.

And I've sat with a lot of tired bodies over my nearly 40 years of nursing. You know, the kind of tired that sleep doesn't always fix. The kind that shows up in the body, the kind that stops a person mid sentence as if they've had to step away for a moment. Lost in their own world.

Right now I'm seeing it everywhere, not just clinically. But also in friends. In strangers' faces. In myself, some days if I'm honest.

And here's what I want to say, as someone who's actually witnessed what depletion can do to a person, not someone trying to sell you a solution.

If that's where you're at right now. You are not failing at any of this. None of us are. Its genuinely hard right now. We're probably just exhausted from carrying a body that has been negotiating, for a long time, to stop carrying quite so much.

We're living in unprecedented times, and the ground is anything but steady. That's probably not anything we can control right now either. Heck I don't even know if that let up is coming anytime soon, or even at all.

What I do know for sure though is that, the will to live is real. The will to show up for yourself and others is real, and still very much alive and well. Our most powerful resource is our belief in ourselves and our faith in others. And we're all still here.

So as I'm sitting here with my coffee listening to the first birdsong before my house starts to stir. I'm just here, like the birds, showing up anyway. Later on I'll take the dog for another walk.

That I can control.

16/06/2026

Two years ago I taught someone who I really believed in. I'm not completely sure they ever believed in themselves.

Today they walked back in, not as a student, but as someone worth listening to. To talk to a room full of school leavers deciding what to do with their future career.

And I watched those teenagers go quiet and actually listen. Every word they uttered came from a truly honest place.

I felt like a proud aunty.

Most of the time we don't get to see what our belief can do in someone.

We hold it, we let them go, and often we never get to really know.

But, today I got the receipt.

12/06/2026

I was sitting at the lights today, watching the traffic, different vehicles, all going in different directions, for completely different reasons.

And I start to ponder.

Some are rushing. Some stall right as the lights change, not moving when everyone expects them to. Some are willing the lights to change, because that stretch of red feels like forever. Some speed up to beat them, for better or worse.

Everything in our lives feels much the same.

Internally, externally, moving, stuck, waiting, stalling, rushing.

I think many of us are standing at lights that always used to predictably turn green.

We're living through a moment where those old maps don't match the territory anymore, economically, ecologically, in how we work and make meaning fit together, but the new maps aren't drawn yet either.

That's just where things are right now.

And of course deep down, we know the only constant thing in life is change.

If everything's always in motion, even the stuck parts, then the waiting isn't ever wasted.

It's just where you are in the change.
It's allowed to just be what it is, for as long as it is.

That map is still yours to draw. It always was.

09/06/2026

Many years ago, when I was relatively new to palliative care, someone told me a story I've never forgotten about, an elderly white woman, nursing her dying husband at home with no family support.

Living in a low socioeconomic neighbourhood, with confronting indigenous gang affiliations. You know, the kind of place people make gross assumptions about.

And one day her small dog went missing, and it completely pushed her over the edge.

Of course, she assumed the worst. Who wouldn't. Assumed she knew the who, the what and the why.

But instead of doing nothing, she walked straight up to the home of the local gang leader and knocked loudly on the door.

When he answered, she demanded her dog back. Then completely burst into tears. He told her it wasn't his gang. But that he would find it, before it was too late.

And he did. And then he did something she wasnt expecting. These men, the ones everyone feared, the ones everyone assumed hurt people, offered their complete protection. Put the word out on the street, they were not to be touched.

She had morphine in the house for her husband's pain. And they made sure they were safe. When her husband died, they even came to his funeral.

These days we talk a lot about not having enough services, not enough support, not enough resources to hold our communities together.

You know, the systems we depend on.

But I also think about this woman. And that door.
Because that's what community actually is.
Its not services or systems.

Its how we show up for each other.
It's doing the right thing. It's human nature.

We see an accident, we stop. We see someone in trouble, we try and help.

She knocked on a door she was afraid of.
And her community said "how can we help."

06/06/2026

I'm not quite sure who I am anymore. Or maybe it's I don't recognize this version of my life anymore.

Not in a crisis or a depressive way. Its not even an anxious feeling. It's really hard to explain.

Its more like, when you're just sitting at a party where everyone is talking excitedly, illuminated, and you're just there. Present. Yet not really required.

It's not even a feeling of loneliness exactly. It's something much more subtle than that.

I think perhaps the world has moved on without me. Except I don't think that's it either.

I think perhaps its me. I'm the one who moved on.

Nothing really fits anymore. And I'm not sad, nor ungrateful. And I really don't feel lost. I'm just kinda in the in-between.

And when I look around, this waiting room has a whole lot of people in it.

01/06/2026

This week I was loading up the wheelbarrow full of wood to light the fire, its winter now. And I got stung by a wasp, a queen sleeping. All of my life I have believed I am allergic to wasps, because I have a memory from toddlerhood.

Falling into a nest, all the women pouring vinegar from pickled onion jars over my small body. My mother swore it never actually happened. Yet this memory stayed strong.

I used to run away from wasps in blind panic. Managed to avoid getting stung, till 18 years ago (First sting), took medication and went to the hospital.

Almost given adrenaline because I was in a state of panic and had sensations across my lips and face, in hindsight that was probably the hyperventilating.

I found out I was pregnant with the twins that day, after another enquiry.

This week, loading that wood, and instead I slowed everything right down. I sat and just breathed. Put some ice on it.

And nothing else happened. Yeah it hurt, and it swelled, and man it itched for days.
But that was literally it.

I'm 53 years old and I just found out I was never allergic to wasps. Just deeply afraid.

How many of us are living inside a story our body wrote before we had words for it? Running from something that stung us once.
That autopilot runs so quietly we forget it's running at all. My brain was lying to me.

Makes you wonder what else...

28/05/2026

It’s felt heavier this week, trying to hold everything together in a world that doesn’t feel quite as steady anymore. There’s a loneliness in being the one people often turn to.

I see it everywhere. Even in people I’ve never met. That shared overload that doesn’t really have a language, but you recognise it when you see it.

And yet, life carries on around it all. Someone laughing too loudly in a supermarket. Dogs dragging people down the street to read their pee-mails. People grabbing coffees, on their way to work, forgetting why they walked into a room in the first place.

All of it existing at the same time.

Yeah, we’re carrying more than we should. It doesn’t seem to lessen after rest either. Sometimes it’s burnout. Mostly its stress. But underneath that, it feels a little closer to grief, maybe.

Grief for what we thought things were, and for what we can’t unsee.

This week I was with students again, watching them, listening. One of them stayed very present with something I had said earlier. Just taking it all in, meeting people where they are.

It reminded me of something simple I forget when things feel heavy.

We are still showing up for each other

Still noticing, responding. And still present.

The truth is we don't have to carry it all. We were never meant to carry it alone. People are still looking out for one another.

Kind, curious, still capable of the holding.

Perhaps it was me that needed that reminder.

26/05/2026

They cried when I told them they were doing well.
Not when I offered the constructive feedback at the end. Before that. When I said what was genuinely true, that they were competent and caring, and that it showed.
Those tears fell with the kindness.

I've been thinking about that. About what it means that so many of us are walking around so braced for criticism that the slightest recognition can tip us over. That being seen clearly, and seen well, has become its own kind of shock.

We are living through something. I'm not sure we have the right language for it yet. But I watch it in the people around me, this chronic low-level feeling of not enoughness. The way our bodies hold themselves ready for the final verdict.

What that student today needed most I suspect, was validation and to know that they mattered.
To be witnessed is to matter.
I don't think that's a small thing. I think right now it might be just about everything.

Witness one person today like it costs you nothing and means everything.
Not necessarily as a compliment, or feedback, or even as encouragement.

Just, I see you. You belong here. You do matter.

22/05/2026

I took two groups of first year student nurses to an aged residential care facility this week.
When we arrived, I noticed the activities board. That morning, kindergarten children had visited. Planned soon, Samoan school children are coming to sing.

In between, was a visit from us.

Three generations moving through the same building all in a single day, and the oldest ones at the centre of it all.

I noticed the staff, present, unhurried, genuinely glad to be there.

I noticed the residents teaching the students card games, and how competitive everyone got at floor bowls.

I noticed the chat club, organised by a resident advocate, and how much, and how little, people chose to share.

I noticed the man with declining cognition who told me how frightened he was.

I noticed the frail man who took himself to the exercise equipment and worked quietly at getting stronger.

I noticed the woman who learned to paint with her opposite hand after her stroke. Who told me she never shows anyone her art, because her daughter said it was terrible.

I noticed fresh grief in two relatives in the corridor. And then the honor walk, staff falling in behind the body as it left the building, one last act of witness.

And I noticed my students. Their curiosity. Their awe. The ones who didn't yet know when to make themselves small enough for the room.

Before we left, I asked each student for their take-home. I always do. It's how we leave a room like that, in reflection, not just their relief.

They spoke about what surprised them. What they struggled with. How different it was from what they'd expected. How much they'd been given.

Being moved by the ordinary. What it means to enter a room.

19/05/2026

You did enough for today

Whatever that looked like

However it compares to yesterday or to what you planned

Even if it was just getting through

Even if nobody saw

Give yourself permission to have already done enough today

As is

You can put it down now

Me too

We did enough for today

Address

Richmond
7020

Telephone

+64275239250

Website

http://www.nickycooper.life/, https://marketplace.ignite.org.nz/providers/nicky-cooper-wellbeing-practitioner, https://m

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